


Human, Yes, but no less a Monster

by Talitha_Koum



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Gen, Gun Violence, Guns, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Shifting perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talitha_Koum/pseuds/Talitha_Koum
Summary: All Damian can think is,"No, no, no, no, no, no! I promised, not again, never again.What have I done?"
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 15
Kudos: 217





	Human, Yes, but no less a Monster

It was raining in Gotham.

Typically, Damian would consider this an annoyance for patrol, but tonight it was suitable, matching his mood. Father was out of town and had felt the need to tell him (once again) that he was not allowed to go on patrol alone. Ridiculous

Needless to say, he had still gone, sneaking out after storming off to his room in a ‘tantrum’ when Pennyworth had refused to allow him entrance into the Cave, even to run comms. As if he would do anything so childish as throw a tantrum. It had merely been a ruse, to provide reasoning for him locking himself into his room, refusing to speak to anyone.

Then it was only a matter of slipping into a Robin suit he kept hidden, one with no implanted trackers, and sneak out to where he kept a cycle hidden on the outskirts of the property.

Unfortunately, the rain, while matching his ire, also meant that, for the most part, Gotham was quiet. There were still the major crime movements going on, of course, but to get involved there meant to be discovered by one of the others and forced to return home. So, he overlooked the city from a rooftop ledge, and fumed.

_Foolish. That’s what it is. Absolutely foolish that Father insisted I be supervised while out on patrol. I am fully capable of handlingmyself; Mother had seen to it. I’m not a child, I do not need a babysitter!_

He’d stated this to Father, but the man had just shaken his head, as if Damian was too young to truly understand anything.

It was infuriating.

So entrenched is Damian in his thoughts, that he nearly misses the quiet sound of footsteps behind him. He turns, just in time to see a pipe swinging at his head.

A blast of lights, accompanied by a distant cracking sound, and he knows no more.

…

He wakes up slowly, at first only aware of the fact that he is in a different location, one that is thankfully dry, and that he is bound.

He lifts his head slowly and forces down a groan when even that simple motion brings pain, a pounding ache radiating from where he was struck. After taking a moment to complete some breathing exercises to get the pain under control, he opens his eyes to look around the room.

Whoever his captor is, they are not currently in the room. Damian takes advantage of this, checking to see if he still has his knives. Fortunately, he does, although the one he kept on his utility belt is missing. His captor must have assumed it was the only one he carried.

“Incompetent fool.” With a single movement, he has a knife in his hand, pressed up against the rope, ready to work himself free.

He’s about halfway through his bonds when he hears footsteps approaching from the doorway. He stills, palming the knife, and lifts his head, every inch the indignant prisoner. Soon enough, a man appears through the shadowing doorway, pausing for a moment when he sees Damian.

“Ah, I was hoping you’d still be out.” He sighs, before turning to shut the door behind him. “Terribly sorry for leaving you alone, I had to make sure none of your associates had followed us here.”

“Tt, as if I would need anyone else’s help.” Damian scoffs. Undoubtably, this man was underestimating him due to his age, just as everyone else did.

“Oh, I’m sure.” The fool is patronizing him. Overconfident, especially considering his incompetence. Damian’s thrown off guard, however, when the man reaches into his back pocket and takes out his phone, snapping a picture.

“What are you doing, you pervert?” Obviously, he’d been spending too much time with Todd if that was the best insult he could come up with. A concussion was no excuse.

“Obtaining evidence that I have captured the real Robin, not just some random kid I threw in a costume.” The man replies as he puts the phone back in his pocket. “But who are you, under that mask?”

He approaches slowly, studying Damian as if he could see through the latex covering his identity. “Answering that question would surely lead to the Big Bad Batman, wouldn’t it?”

Damian begins to strain against the ropes, attempting to snap through the already fraying cords.

His efforts only make the man strike him again, and his headache, which had been pushed to the back of his mind, explodes in earnest. He gasps at the pain, tears streaming unwillingly down his face.

The man grips him by the hair and tries to peel the mask from his face. After struggling for a few minutes, he curses in frustration. “Of course you bats would make some kind of special glue. Of course you would.”

Damian breaths out a small sigh of relief when the man backs off, up until he is once again face to face with his captor, now holding a knife.

His knife.

The man shoves his head back, bracing his palm against Damian’s forehead to hold him in place, neck stretched back to an almost impossible angle. He grips the edge of the mask, and places the knife against his skin.

“Careful now. I’d hate for you to lose an eye.”

A surge of adrenaline, and finally the ropes around his wrists snap. Damian flips himself backwards, launching the man into the air behind him. He stands to his feet and stumbles, the acrobatics combining with the concussion to make him dizzy and unstable.

As he struggles to gain his balance, he is struck in the back with a force that knocks him to the ground, and suddenly the man is on top of him, fist swing down for another blow to the head, leaving his ears ringing, disorienting him further.

He catches the glint of the knife coming towards his face, and panics, swinging his own hand up and feeling the knife make impact into the man’s abdomen.

The man freezes with a grunt, and rolls off of Damian. He gasps, eyes wide, hands clutching the wound. Damian, still holding the bloody knife in his hand, stares at the man, at the wound, knowing what it means.

He runs.

He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know where he’s going.

All he can think is,

“No, no, no, no, no, no! I promised, not again, never again.

What have I done?”

…

Dick jolts awake when he hears the light knock at the window of his fire escape. He stands from the kitchen table, where he was _supposed_ to be looking over case files, rather than dozing off, and sighs deeply when he sees the time blinking at him from the microwave clock.

So much for a good night’s sleep before going to work in the morning.

He goes to the window, and all vestiges of sleep are swept from his mind when he sees Robin swaying out on the fire escape, face covered in dried blood.

_Isn’t B out of town? Damian’s not even supposed to be out tonight!_

He opens the window, pulling his brother into the apartment and holds him up to look for the cause of the bleeding.

He finds a cut on the edge of the mask, shallow but long.

“Dami, what happened?” There’s no response, his mouth opens as if to answer, but closes before he makes a sound. Dick looks him over and sees that his entire body is practically screaming shellshock.

“Okay.” He says calmly, voice much calmer than he’s feeling. “It’s okay, Dami, we’ll figure this out.” Dick guides him to the bathroom and works to gently wash the blood from his face, finding the knot on the side of the head.

He realizes that Damian’s out of it demeaner may not be entirely shock, but also a possible, no, probable concussion, requiring a full assessment.

He reaches up to take off the mask, and Damian resists, the first real reaction Dick’s seen since he arrived.

“No, get off!” He shrieks, futilely trying to fight, despite his obvious unsteadiness.

Dick backs off, holding hands up to show Damian that he was safe. “Hey, Lil D, it’s okay. It’s okay, it’s just me.” He slowly reaches out, telegraphing every move beforehand. “Let me take the mask off, Babybird. I’ve got to check your eyes, I’m pretty sure you have a concussion.”

Damian slowly nods, stilling just enough that Dick can take the mask off, cleaning off the glue with the special wipes Bruce uses to loosen the adhesive. Once it’s off, he performs a full concussion assessment, and, yep, serious concussion.

“How did you even make here, Dami?” Once again, there is no response, just Damian staring off with a hundred-yard-stare Dick usually associates with trauma victims. “What happened, Babybird?”

Dick finishes cleaning him off, then takes him into the bedroom so he can change out of the uniform into more comfortable clothes. He pulls out a change of Damian’s clothes, stacking them on the bed, then pulls out one of his own hoodies for Damian to put on top of everything.

“I’m gonna make some tea. That sound good to you?” At this, Damian nods, then squints and softly groans at the movement. “And something for the headache. You definitely have a concussion.” In response, Damian slowly nods again, and moves to start stripping out of his uniform.

Dick goes out to the kitchen, turns the kettle on to make tea, then stares out the kitchen window brooding, trying to figure out next move. So intent is he in his musing, he startles when his phone rings from the counter beside him. He checks the caller ID and answers when he sees that Jason’s calling.

“Hello?”

“Demon brat with you?” Wind rushing, like he’s on his motorcycle and calling from the helmet.

“Yeah, he’s here. Jay, something happened, he’s –”

“I’m on my way to you. Bout half an hour out.” Jason cuts him off.

“Jason. What happened?”

No response.

“Jason?”

“He’ll be okay, Dickhead.” He pauses, hesitating as if he wants to say more, then rethinks it. “Half an hour.” And he hangs up.

Dick barely resists slamming his phone onto the counter, cursing under his breath. He takes the kettle off the stovetop just before it starts screaming and continues to make the tea.

…

When Jason finally arrives at the apartment, he comes in through the door, jacket zipped up covering the symbol on his chest, helmet hidden against his side.

“Where’s the kid?” He asks, his deep voice rumbling through the entryway.

“Jason, what happened? He’s barely said a word since he showed up, bloody and concussed.” Dick tries to keep the frustration out of his voice, but honestly, he was desperate.

“Dick.” Jason’s tone was almost soft, but still just as firm as a brick wall. “I need to talk to Damian.”

Dick takes in a deep breath, and gestures towards the other side of the apartment. “He’s in the bedroom.”

Jason nods and places his helmet on the counter before walking back to the bedroom.

Damian looks up when he comes into the room, but makes no movement or statement at his entrance. Jason sits down beside him on the bed and faces the bookshelf where Damian’s staring. On it, he sees a photograph of Dick and Damian, where the two of them had apparently fallen asleep on the couch watching a movie, and Alfred had taken the opportunity to snap a picture.

He gazes at it for a moment, before taking a deep breath and asking softly, “Wanna tell me what happened in the warehouse tonight?”

He doesn’t look down at Damian when he asks, but hears him take in a stuttering breath. “He hit me. Knocked me out, Dick said concussion.” The kid takes another breath to steady himself, and continues “He hit me, and I couldn’t focus. Had a knife, I panicked. I didn’t have control.”

“I killed him.” The confession comes softly, broken. “I promised to stop killing, and I killed him. Father will –”

“No you didn’t.” Jason cuts him off. At Damian’s confused, tearful look, he repeats “You didn’t kill him.”

“What do you mean? I know where I hit him, Todd!”

“Hate to tell you, Babybrat, but you’re wrong.”

“How would you know? How’d you even know I was there?” Damian’s voice, still broken and scared, now takes on a slight tinge of anger.

Jason simply hands him a knife, an exact match to the one Damian hadn’t loosed his death grip on since leaving the warehouse.

“I found this in an old abandoned warehouse I was scoping out, along with a bit of blood.” He looks Damian in the eyes, making sure his words hit their mark. “There was blood, but no dead guy when I got there, kiddo.”

The nickname, which Damian would have normally snarled at, flies past him unnoticed. “I didn’t kill him.” The words are whispered, filled with relief.

“No. You did not kill him.”

Damian’s face crumples, and he begins to cry, releasing out the fear he’d been struggling to hold back, massive tears of relief that Jason knew he would have never let show if it weren’t for the fogginess of a concussion. He stays with him, holding and comforting his little brother until he cries himself to sleep.

After Damian sobs ease into soft snores, Jason looks up and makes eye contact with Dick, who nods towards the kitchen. He responds with one quick nod, and eases Damian to the bed, taking care not to wake him, before making his way out of the bedroom.

As soon as he closes the bedroom door, Dick turns back to face him. “What happened, Jay?” The words aren’t spoken in anger, but they demand an answer just the same.

“The kid thought he killed someone tonight.” Dick takes in a sharp breath, glancing over towards the door as he did. Jason reaches out and grabs his arm, forcing his attention back.

“Even if he had, it would have been self-defense, and an accident. You saw that lump on his head, no way the kid doesn’t have a massive concussion. I don’t even know how he made it all the way here.”

Dick nods, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed shut. “Yeah, I know that.” Suddenly, he looks up at Jason. “You said ‘Even if he had.’ Damian _didn’t_ kill him?”

“No. Like I told the kid, when I got there, no dead guy.”

Now Dick was studying him closely. “How did you know about any of this? What aren’t you saying, Jason?”

…

_Several hours earlier_

Jason lands on the roof, reaching into his pocket to answer the cell phone he uses for informants and anonymous tips. “This is Red Hood.”

“Hood, baby.” He recognizes the voice as one of the working girls he looks after. “I just had a John rush out on me. He got a phone call from a buddy of his, saying that he caught himself a lil birdie.”

She reels off the address the man had repeated for verification, and then forwards his phone number to Jason, saying “He’s one who likes to schedule his appointments ahead of time.” Jason thanks her, and then makes his way towards the address, hacking the man’s phone as he went.

_Yeah, screw you, Timbo, you’re not the only one who can hack into stuff_

He arrives at the warehouse just after the John and finds him putting pressure on wound in his friend’s stomach, which is bleeding heavily.

 _Scratch that_.

Jason realizes the John isn’t exactly trying to save his friend, just keep him conscious and alive enough to find out some information.

“Where’s the kid? You get the mask off? Who is he?” The man with the unfortunate case of stab-itis doesn’t respond, only grunts in pain.

_Welp, I’ve seen enough here._

“Don’t move.” The John jumps at the sound of his automated voice, looking up and paling when he sees the Red Hood, in all his glory.

Jason steps out of the shadows, a gun in each hand, and squats on the other side of the quickly dying man. “You look like you need to get something off your chest. Tell me about it.” He keeps his voice smooth and calm, well aware of how intimidating it was, sometimes even more so than yelling and threatening.

“Listen, man. I didn’t do nothing. He called me, said he caught Robin, and was going to get to the Bat.” Johnny-boy attempts a weak chuckle. “Obviously, it didn’t work.”

Jason also chuckles, much darker, before rising to his feet to stand over both men. “Has he said anything?”

“No.” Dear John’s near to crying now, shaking his head frantically. He also stands to his feel, hands up, backing away. “Listen man, I didn’t do nothing, I don’t know nothing. Please just - ”

“Get out.” Jason growls. The man wastes no time fleeing, and Jason makes his way over to the no unconscious and freely bleeding man on the floor. He makes no move to help, or stop the bleeding, instead looking around the body.

After a moment, he drops to one knee to pick up a knife. It’s one he recognizes, League made, specifically for the al-Ghuls. Which at one point included Damian.

Jason nods, grunting in personal confirmation. He stands to his feet, and looks over the would-be kidnapper again, whose breathing is now incredibly labored and slow. Jason considers him for a moment, then pulls out a gun and shoots him.

He then takes the time to deal with the body, removing the man’s cell phone, wallet, and all potential identifiers, then returns to his motorcycle to make the trek to Bludhaven.

…

“You killed him?” Dick’s voice is shocked, and furious.

“He was literally seconds away from dying, Dick. His friend took off as soon as he got a chance. No one else would have gotten there in time.” It’s not an excuse, he’s not defending himself, just stating facts. “I did what I did. It’s done.”

“You could have done something, Jason. You didn’t have to –”

“Even if I had tried to help him, I guarantee you he would have still died. This way, I killed him, not Damian.”

Now Dick’s exasperated. “That’s not how that works, Jay.”

“Damian stabbed him, and he was still alive. I shot him, and he was dead. Simple as that.” Jason argues, hand slicing through the air to emphasize his point.

“Jason.”

“Dick.” He meets his brother’s eyes, unwilling to bend. “I did it. It’s on my head, my hands. Not his.”

With this statement, Jason picks his helmet up off of the counter, pauses in his movement to the door, then turns, squaring his shoulders as he faces Dick.

“I don’t regret it. I’d do it again. Damian did not kill that bastard, and don’t you dare even let him think that he did. He doesn’t need that.” After saying this, Jason turns and continues to walk out the door.

Dick watches him go.

He could say that Damian needs more than just a technicality, that they have a rule against killing, and it’s there for a reason, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he watches until his little brother opens the door, and simply says “Thank you. For watching out for him.”

Jason stops, frozen in the doorway. After a moment, he looks back and nods at Dick, before continuing out into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I read a tumblr post that said something along the lines of “Yeah you stabbed him but look at this.” *BANG* “I shot him, I’m the one that killed him.” It was written as a sort of comedy thing/good big brother Jason, but my brain said, “What if angst?” and here you go. Unfortunately I cannot find the post to link it, and I guarantee you I searched for 45 minutes.


End file.
